


you got diamonds in your eyes tonight

by nutmeg101



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5988994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeg101/pseuds/nutmeg101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's not a date, smartass."</p>
            </blockquote>





	you got diamonds in your eyes tonight

 

The sidewalk is damp and the breeze is sticky and warm when Lexa finds herself en route to Clarke’s apartment early Saturday afternoon. She picks a flower from a grassy patch, twirls it between her fingers, and then sticks it into her pocket. The trees are finally in full bloom after what seemed like the harshest winter; rays of sunlight peaking their way through the breaks in leaves and branches. 

Lexa takes the stairs two at a time until she’s just short of breath on the third floor, knuckles rapping against the wooden door of apartment 3B as she simultaneously pushes it open.

“Clarke?” She calls out, letting the door click shut behind her as she pads her way in, flip-flops slick against the hardwood. It smells faintly of burnt popcorn and day old beer; the kitchen is a mess of empty beer and liquor bottles, no doubt a result of whatever it is that Raven and Octavia usually do on Friday nights. There are even clothes and books strewn all over the living room.

“ _Clarke_ ,” Lexa calls again, a little louder and that’s when Raven’s head violently pops up from behind the couch, nearly startling Lexa to the floor. “Jesus,” she hisses through gritted teeth, her hand grasping at the closest wall to steady herself and heartbeat.

“Shhh.” Raven vaguely waves a limp hand at Lexa. Her eyes are still closed, brows furrowed, hair a matted disaster of frizz and knots. “Maybe don’t scream so loud.” 

Lexa grimaces and waves her own hand in front of her face. “Maybe brush your teeth. Is Clarke here?”

Raven manages one eye open, giving Lexa a quick once over, then immediately shuts it when the light is too bright. “Clarke!” she shouts. “Your bae is here!”

Lexa’s cheeks shade a light colour of pink and her eyes dart around the room as if it were full of people. 

“She’s not—I’m not—“ but before she can get much else out, Raven’s head has already hit the pillow, blanket covering it, and Clarke’s bedroom door is rattling open. The end of the hallway is dark, but Lexa would recognize the silhouette of the lazy flop of Clarke’s messy bun under any lighting condition. When she walks into the light, Lexa has to will herself to not gawk at Clarke’s legs as she strides closer in her direction in nothing but a t-shirt and shorts so short they might just actually be underwear. 

“Lexa!” Clarke’s face lights up at the sight of the tall brunette standing in her living room. Her pace quickens and then she’s opening her arms for a hug, in which Lexa gladly obliges. Clarke’s body and warm and flush against hers, lightly drizzled in the scent of toothpaste and face wash and Lexa is trying to think about anything other than the fact that Clarke is definitely not wearing a bra.

“Is she okay?” Lexa asks quickly when they pull apart, gesturing towards the couch. She can still feel the warm press of Clarke against her. “Do I need to go on a Gatorade run?”

Clarke peaks her head over and simply shakes her head, a tone of lighthearted disgust in her sigh. “Her bedroom is literally five feet away and yet she chooses to pass out on the couch. Typical.” Then she looks back at Lexa. “You missed a hell of a party last night though, Lex.” 

Lexa shrugs, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Clarke’s ear. “You know that’s not my scene.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Clarke’s smile is soft and she’s still blinking some sleep out of her eyes. “So what’s up?”

“Well…” Lexa fishes into her back pocket and pulls out two ticket-looking stubs of paper and holds them out in front of Clarke. “Lincoln gave me these. They’re for the Picasso exhibit at the art gallery later tonight. He was going to take Octavia but I think they got into a fight or something and I figured you like art, so…” 

Clarke eyes the tickets and then eyes Lexa. There’s a different kind of smile tugging at her lips now, this time more intrigued. “ _You_ want to go to an art exhibit? On a Saturday night? Isn’t there a soccer or hockey game on or something?”

Lexa presses her lips into a straight line and retracts her hand. She lifts an eyebrow and cocks her head noncommittally, feigning disinterest.

“Fine, be ungrateful. Maybe Anya wants to go instead.”

Clarke scoffs and steps forward before Lexa can move. She reaches for a ticket but Lexa is smug and hides her hands behind her back. It promps Clarke to wrap her arms around her, trapping her in place. Lexa fidgets, but Clarke shows no signs of letting go. Instead, Clarke pouts dramatically and flashes these unrelenting puppy dog eyes that turn the back of Lexa’s throat into a desert. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m grateful, okay? I want to go. Please?”

Lexa exhales and Clarke loosens her grip just enough that Lexa can shimmy a hand out and present her with a ticket.

“I’m cultured, you know? Just because I like sports doesn’t mean I can’t like art too.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Clarke smiles and takes the ticket from Lexa before she can change her mind again. “Thank youuu,” she squeals before squeezing Lexa again, this time more forgivingly. All the while, Lexa is still trying to ignore the fact that a very underdressed Clarke is all over her. 

“It starts at 8 so I’ll drop by here again at around 7:15ish.” Lexa tells Clarke when she has finally given her some breathing space.

“Sounds good.” Clarke nods and then Lexa is disappearing out the front door.

 

  

Clarke is staring aimlessly in the wake of Lexa unaware of the smile that’s on her face. It’s a smile that if any of her roommates could see it, they would never let her live it down. It’s not until Raven’s voice wavers from the couch that Clarke is pulled back into reality. 

“I wish _I_ could get a date that easily.”

“It’s not a date, smartass,” Clarke says a little too defensively. She’s suddenly conscious of how little she’s wearing and how much Lexa must have seen and felt. “We’re just friends, you know that.”

Raven manages a small _“ha!”_ It’s followed by a beat silence and then: “The biggest gay and most left wing bisexual I know. Just friends. Sure.”

“You straight people are so weird,” Clarke mumbles, hearing only what she wants to hear. She is still half smiling when Octavia finally emerges from her room in a disheveled mess. Her mascara is smudged from last night and she’s pitifully outfitted in one of Lincoln’s shirts.

She blinks groggily at Clarke and then at the ticket in her hand, disdain written across her face. 

“That should have been mine,” she mumbles.

 

 

As it turns out, the walk to and from the art gallery is actually loads more fun than the gallery itself.

The gallery is nothing but one hour of security guards hushing them every time they laugh too loud and hoards of tall people blocking their view of paintings. At one point, Lexa wraps her arms around Clarke’s waist from behind in an attempt to lift her past a man who might as well be a brick wall. The ensuing laughter and flailing bodies garners looks of scorn and threatens to get them thrown out. 

When they’re not laughing, Lexa is pretending she knows exactly what Clarke is talking about when she rambles on about Picasso’s “cubism” and African influence. She nods thoughtfully, stroking at her chin, adding the occasional “ah, yes, mhm,” and every so often loosely throwing around the word “brushstroke.” It takes all but five minutes for Clarke to see right through it, but it doesn’t stop her from rambling in more detail to see how long Lexa can keep up the charade.

By the time the hour lapses, Lexa is bored out of her mind. The only joy she gets is not only from getting to spend this time with Clarke, but from watching her seemingly so in her element. Just so _Clarke._

It’s all worth it in the end when Clarke thanks her with a long, drawn out hug, and a feather light kiss on her cheek that Lexa isn’t ever sure happens or not.

“I know you hated every moment,” Clarke acknowledges when they’re outside, walking shoulder to shoulder, knuckles endlessly brushing.

“I did _not_ ,” Lexa defends, coming to a halt at a red light. Clarke looks at her knowingly.

“The only other time I’ve ever seen you _that_ miserable is when you lost that bet with Bellamy and had to wear that Manchester United or whatever jersey.” 

Lexa gives up a small sigh. (She remembers that day well though—12 long hours in the rival’s jersey, forced out in public. Clarke made sure it was well documented.)

“Okay, fine, maybe I did. But you had fun, right? As long as you had fun—you made it tolerable.”

Clarke smiles and if Lexa notices the blush in her cheeks, she doesn’t say anything. “I had fun, Lex. It would have been less fun with anyone else.”

“Good.” Lexa nods, composure just barely in tact, turning her gaze forward as the light turns greens. 

Clarke stays close as they walk the rest of the way back to her apartment. Quite and light conversation about nothing in particular muddles with ambient city noises. With spring upon them, the shops and restaurants have opened their doors and windows. There’s music playing from every other bar and neon signs light the sidewalk in a multicoloured show. 

Their pace slows as they escape the hustle and bustle of the busy main road for a quiet side street; the one that leads back to Clarke’s building. Here, the only thing to be heard is the faint sounds of dogs barking and the mechanic hum of car tires against asphalt.

“You didn’t have to walk me home,” Clarke says, stopping under the hazy orange glow of a flickering streetlamp and turning to Lexa. “But thank you.”

Lexa nods again. “I just like to make sure you’re safe.”

“I’m a grown woman, you know? I can take care of myself.”

“I know.”

The buzzing of the streetlamp fills the silence and there’s a very low growl of thunder somewhere in the distance. They both look up to the sky and when they look back down, Lexa’s eyes flicker to Clarke’s lips for just a second. Maybe Clarke notices, her body language adapting and gravitating closer, but then Lexa is caught in between two minds and offers Clarke a hug. 

It’s full and comforting, bodies pressed tight much like earlier this afternoon. Only this time Clarke is fully clothed. 

“Thanks again for coming with me tonight,” Lexa breathes onto Clarke’s shoulder, taking in the scent of her shampoo; something fruity, maybe berries. It’s intoxicating.

“I still can’t believe you suffered through all that for me,” Clarke laughs, both of them reluctantly letting go.

Lexa’s eyes are earnest as she nonchalantly shrugs. “What are friends for, right?”

“Right.” Clarke echoes, a hint of what sounds like disappointment laced into a single syllable. _Friends,_ she repeats in her head.

It’s not until a light drizzle falls from the sky that Lexa takes it as her cue to leave. She squeezes Clarke’s forearm gently, telling her goodnight, before spinning on her heels and jogging around the block before the drizzle turns into another downpour.

  

 

Clarke has barely made into the living room when Octavia’s voice startles her from the kitchen.

“Finally,” Octavia breathes purposely dramatic. “We were starting to get worried. How was the date?”

“Yeah,” Raven’s voice carries from her favourite place on the couch. “What were you doing? Making out? Getting laid?”

Clarke narrows her eyes from the kitchen doorway, kicking her flip-flops off onto the shoe rack just across the way. “Shut up,” she mumbles, only rolling her eyes when her back is towards Octavia. “It wasn’t a date.”

  

 

Lexa might only make it half way home before she’s rain soaked under the moonlit sky. It’s cool now and the water sticks to her skin like the condensation on a cold bottle. She isn’t too fussed, though. Firstly because she loves the rain and the way it smells in the springtime—like childhood—and secondly because she’s too preoccupied with her thoughts. 

She’s wondering if that _should_ have been a date.

 

\---------- 

 

 

Weekday nights usually see Clarke in bed by a reasonable hour, but tonight, as Raven and Octavia are both heading to bed, Clarke is heading out. 

She’s careful to not let her high heels scuff the hardwood floor, but more importantly, she’s trying to make a quiet and unnoticed getaway. She’s almost out when she drops her keys to the floor (tonight, more than any night they crash with a vengeance) and Octavia pokes her head around the corner, snatching the keys off the floor before Clarke can. 

“Holy _shit._ ” Octavia’s eyes widen and trail the length of Clarke’s body starting from the detailed eye make up all the way to where her skinny jeans hug her ankles and then back up to her skintight tank top that’s hardly covered by a tiny white blazer. “Griffin, I—I didn’t know you could clean up so well? Where are you—Raven come here!”

Clarke sticks her hands out and shakes her head, a silent and frantic plea for Octavia to essentially shut the fuck up. But it’s too late and Raven is already rounding the corner and Clarke is just _waiting_ for whatever she has to say. Instead, for once, Raven is speechless if not for just a second. Then her lips are twitching into this cunning smile and her eyes are doing that thing they do when she starts to put pieces together.

“ _I_ know where she’s going,” Raven states arms folded, leaning into Octavia. “She’s going on a date. With Lexa.”

Octavia’s jaw drops as if this is actually news to her and Clarke rolls her eyes, smacking her in the arm for not knowing better. Then she sighs defeated at Raven.

“How many times do I have to tell you that Lexa and I are just friends.”

“It’s 11 o’clock on a Tuesday night,” Raven notions very matter-of-factly. “You’ve been texting someone all night who I can only assume is Lexa by the stupid grin that’s been on your face and you’re telling me that you being dressed up like _this_ has nothing to do with that?”

Clarke blinks once, gaze shifting between the women in front of her. Her cheeks are hot and tingling. She could just as easily have lied, said she was going to hang out with Monty. But everyone knows that Clarke would never dress up like this for Monty of all people and besides, ever since he met Miller, _no one_ has seen him. 

“It’s _not_ a date,” Clarke presses. She grabs the keys from Octavia’s hand and lets herself out before anymore words can be exchanged. She does however shout one last thing before the door closes behind her:

“Don’t wait up for me!”

 

 

“You wore white to a bar?” Lexa inquires, eyes following a similar but slower path that Octavia’s did earlier.

She then reaches over the bar for the two beers bartender hands her and hands one to Clarke, who might be slightly blushing.

“Yeah, so?”

“So you’re one of the clumsiest people I know. There's going to be beer all over that by the end of the night.”

“You underestimate me.” Clarke states, holding up her bottle for Lexa’s. They clink once, eye to eye, and they’re both mid sip when a much taller gentlemen standing aloof at the edge of bar strides over and inserts himself into their pocket of space. He’s all strong cologne, too much hair product, and his uneven beard is vaguely repellent.

“You beautiful ladies look like you could use the company of a man tonight,” he says, the smell of rum thick on his breath.

Clarke grimaces edging away and closer to Lexa and Lexa shoots him a scowl so scorching that it could start a fire.

“No thanks,” Lexa huffs. She’s got a hand around Clarke’s elbow and is guiding her away, shielding her from any more unwarranted propositions. The man grumbles something incoherently but they’re too far out of earshot. 

When they’re finally free of the crowd from the bar, Lexa’s hand drops from Clarke’s elbow and settles onto the small of her back, leading her towards an empty table towards the back of the bar. Clarke walks slow, savouring the touch already having forgotten about Mr. Greasy; and she can’t quite place a finger on it, but the way that Lexa has managed to take command of the situation with no more than two words and a _look_ leaves her feeling some type of _way._

It pulls tightly, slow and low in depths of Clarke’s abdomen.

 

 

There’s a live band playing tonight—two run of the mill guys with big mustaches and guitars who perform whiny love songs and mediocre hip hop covers—and Clarke and Lexa are two and a half drinks deep, dark alcohol heavy on their tongues, by the time the band takes to the makeshift stage. 

They don’t even notice the music changes from whatever is playing through the sound system to actual real human voices on stage. Clarke is too distracted learning the shapes that Lexa’s mouth makes as she speaks each word because it’s too loud to really hear; and Lexa is seemingly just too caught up in Clarke in general. It’s not until Lexa vaguely gestures that she’s going to move her chair next to Clarke’s so she can see the stage too (it’s nothing more than an excuse for her to get as close as possible) that Clarke is aware of her surrounds again.

Then, as if Clarke hadn't just watched Lexa drag her chair around the table, Lexa is _right there._ Like she had been planning to pull this move as soon as she knew she could.

Clarke isn’t sure if it’s just a side effect from the alcohol or way Lexa’s gaze practically smoulders into her, but suddenly she’s so overwhelming hot she has to take her blazer off. 

She’s _not_ imagining it when Lexa _ogles_ her _,_ eyes bright and intense, and it feels like emeralds painting her skin.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Lexa says lowly into Clarke’s ear before she gets too comfortable, the words almost lost in an acoustic blitz. Clarke nods and the way her eyes trail after Lexa, especially down the back of her bare legs, is almost unhealthy and Clarke is wondering how she got to this point. 

She’s not even _that_ drunk. 

The statement is moot when several minutes later, Lexa returns with two more beers and two shots. The beer is the same they’ve been drinking all night, heavy with a hint of spice that tickles at Clarke’s nose, but the shots are a rich orange brown colour. Clarke recognizes the smell immediately from Raven and Octavia’s latest weekend bender. It’s Fireball and her stomach lurches at the sight. 

“You can’t be serious,” she says half amused, half disgusted.

“When am I ever _not_ serious?” Lexa jokes, but it’s laced with an undercurrent of something else. It sparkles in her eyes.

“I thought this wasn’t your scene.”

“What? Drinking in bars with pretty girls? That’s everyone’s scene.”

Clarke is lucky for the alcohol that has already shaded her cheeks red, but she’s wondering if Lexa can physically feel the heat radiating from her.

“Relax,” Lexa laughs, christening her new beer. “It’s just a compliment. You’re very pretty. It’s not like we’re on a date or something.”

But that’s just the thing; they’re _not_ a date. Clarke’s a little too drunk to be thinking logically, but if it’s not a date, why are they flirting like they are on one (as if people can’t flirt in any other situation). Why did Lexa get so protective earlier? Why did Clarke worry about getting so dressed up; why did she get so defensive when Raven teased her about it. Why, why, why is all Clarke can think until she hears the words in her head again: 

 _They’re not on a fucking date._  

“Well maybe we should be.”

The words are out of Clarke’s mouth before she’s able to stop them and Lexa’s head cocks to the side slightly, eyebrow raising in unison. The music is loud enough that maybe Lexa hadn’t heard correctly, but the way Lexa is left speechless for the first time all night with this almost half charmed half confused look on her face says otherwise.

Mild panic arises in Clarke and suddenly Whiskey has never looked so good.

“Well these aren’t going drink themselves,” she says quickly pushing a shot towards Lexa.

Lexa takes it, guarded at first, but then they cheers and eventually the words are forgotten.

They are so forgotten that over the course several more songs and drinks, personal space is no longer a concept. They sit far too close for the rest of the night, thighs pressed flush against one another and ultimately, Lexa’s arm drapes casually like it’s a damn accident around the back of Clarke’s chair. It’s innocent enough, but sometimes accidentally and sometimes not so accidentally, Lexa’s thumb will brush the bare skin of Clarke’s bicep, sending an eruption of shivers all over the blonde’s skin. 

Clarke’s head might be foggy and her movements less precise, but she can’t _not_ entertain the idea that this just feels so natural—being so close to Lexa. She’s known Lexa for several years now and they have always had a really great friendship, but there has always been something that has kept them at arms length and neither of them is sure what.

Unfortunately for Clarke, tonight is not the night to try and figure that out. 

Clarke only disappears to the washroom for two minutes and when she returns, she can see that Lexa is struggling, that the alcohol has finally caught up to her. Her newest beer, which was heavily contested by Clarke, sits barely touched and her eyes are progressively getting heavier. Clarke is starting to feel guilty for asking Lexa to meet her at a noisy bar of all places. Lexa had been willing, though, reassuring Clarke it was not a problem and that she would love to— _“anything to get me out of my apartment tonight”._

“Come on,” Clarke says placing a delicate hand on Lexa’s shoulder. “We should probably go. You look like you need to sleep and this band sucks.”

Lexa makes a face like she wants to argue and it’s actually endearing enough that Clarke almost falls victim to it, but Lexa is quick to hear the reason and follows Clarke out of the bar, hand wrapped tightly around her wrist.

The walk back to Lexa’s apartment is mostly silent, soles scraping along the concrete, quiet breathes in unison. The stars are bright tonight and the moon lights the ground where the street lamps don’t.

Lexa leans into Clarke for support. Clarke doesn’t mind of course, arm snaked securely around Lexa’s waist. Even like this, in some drunken stupor, Clarke still manages to be charmed by this tall and lanky woman. She attributes it to the fact that Lexa is just cute all the time and a lot more handsy and silly under the influence.

“Are you going to be okay getting inside?” Clarke asks when they arrive at Lexa’s building. “Do you need me to walk you up?”

Lexa looks like she wants to say yes, like she wants to invite her inside, but even through the haze of too much Fireball and questionable decisions, they both know their night will end out here on the sidewalk for a multitude of reasons. 

“Sorry I’m such a lightweight and can’t hold my liquor.” Lexa half slurs and half over enunciates. She’s grinning now, lazy as it may be, and looking at Clarke through hooded eyes.

“You did pretty well, actually. I’m kind of impressed.” Clarke winks.

Now Lexa’s eyes brighten up. “So I’ve finally impressed _the_ Clarke Griffin, huh?”

Clarke’s face contorts and she opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but her train of thought it cut short when Lexa leans forward, eyes flickering to Clarke’s lips. It isn’t until Lexa is just hairs away from Clarke, that Clarke presses a painstakingly tender (and regretful) finger onto Lexa’s lips before retracting her hand to her side. 

“This isn’t a date, remember?” she whispers with a dejected smirk. It’s the most frustrating feeling because under any other circumstance, she’d kiss Lexa. She’d kiss the hell out of her. But not like this, not when Lexa is drunk and it feels like Clarke might be taking advantage of her.

“Oh yeah,” Lexa sighs in agreement, but she returns a similar, understanding look.

An erratic buzzing from Clarke’s phone in purse kills any and all drunken sentiment and Lexa takes a small step backwards.

“Get home safe, okay?” Lexa says softly, her eyes genuine and more alert now.

“Yeah, don’t pass out in the elevator or anything,” Clarke teases and just before she’s about walk away, Lexa reaches out for the hem of her blazer and pulls her back for a quick kiss on the cheek.

It’s just a peck, a thank you, and it’s more friendly than it is anything else and they’ll both take it for whatever it is.

Clarke won’t tell Lexa that the imprint of her lips burn for the rest of the night.

 

 

\----------

 

 

It’s possibly a huge mistake when Clarke invites Lexa over to have dinner with her, Raven, and Octavia. It’s not as if they aren’t all friends, but lately Clarke has been more than animated at so much as an _implication_ of Lexa. It unintentionally opens the door to a trouncing of crude and sexual humour all revolving around the aforementioned person. Sometimes Clarke laughs, most other times she silently plots whose milk to sabotage first. 

Now, as Octavia and Clarke and setting the table and Raven is awkwardly trying to entertain Lexa in the living room, Clarke is praying that her friends don’t say or do anything stupid.

“So how are things with you and Lexa?” Octavia asks softly like she’s trying to hide a secret, voice buried underneath the music that croons from the living room.

“That’s a weird question to ask,” Clarke mutters, pulling wine glasses from the cabinet. She sets them on the table and goes in search of the corkscrew. “That would be if like if I asked how things were with you and Raven.”

“Come on, Clarke. We all know it’s different between you two.” Octavia takes the corkscrew from Clarke because she remembers what happened last time Clarke tried to open the wine; the kitchen ended up looking like a murder scene. “She makes you happy in a different way than Rae and I do.”

Clarke narrows her eyes ever so slightly. It’s not a threat, she’s simply mulling the words over. Then she pivots around, brushing off Octavia’s statement. 

“Dinner’s ready, guys,” she calls into the living room.

  

 

It goes surprisingly well. Clarke seats herself next to Lexa and directly in front of Raven, and Raven for the most part behaves, only once overtly winking when Lexa and Clarke stare at each for a beat too long. It’s okay though, Raven receiving a swift and silent kick to the shin for her actions and a menacing threat-like grin.

Despite that and everything else Clarke had been worried out, there’s an added sort of tension to the night between her and Lexa. It’s new and exciting and it builds slowly from the ground up; quietly at first with fleeting glances that should be reserved only for when they’re alone; and it rises faster, gets a little louder when their hands accidentally meet under the table and Lexa lets a finger trail in the inside of Clarke’s palm.

Clarke is only half listening when Octavia asks her twice how her new art assignment for work is coming along. Her thoughts are too dizzy around the way Lexa’s knee keeps knocking into hers, the way Lexa is practically inviting her to hold her hand under the table.

“What?” Clarke stammers, hastily bringing her wine glass to her lips. 

“Are you _drunk?_ ” Octavia furrows a brow, and the look on Raven’s face is so smug that Octavia must pick up on it too because then they’re exchanging a knowing look.

“No, I—“ 

“Nevermind,” Octavia laughs, refilling everyone’s glasses with the remaining wine.

  

 

Cleaning up proves to be a harder task than it should be. Lexa insists on helping since everyone had been so gracious in hosting her, but the kitchen quickly gets too crowded. Octavia eagerly volunteers herself out and disappears into her room. For a while, the three of them awkwardly dance around each other putting dishes and utensils away. 

There’s not much talking. There’s a lot of Raven singing along out of tune to _The Lumineers_ vinyl that’s slowly coming to and end; there’s a lot of Clarke’s hands “accidentally” settling low on Lexa’s hips as an excuse to maneuver around her; and there’s even more of Lexa purposely getting in the way.

When the kitchen is finally clean, Octavia reappears outfitted in new attire. Her hair is tamed and her make-up is done.

“I’m going to the bar with Lincoln,” she says, then turning her gaze to Raven. “Wick will be there.”

Raven’s face perks up. She tosses the dish towel to the side and she’s out of the kitchen and changed in less than five minutes. Clarke doesn’t give her shit about it even though she wants to. She’ll have her moment later, when the time is right. 

“Thanks for your company tonight, Lex,” Raven says waiting impatiently at the door for Octavia who is still in the kitchen.

“Thanks for not burning the lasagna again,” Lexa quips back, flashing Raven a quick salute.

Raven jiggles the keys at the door and Octavia presses a quick kiss into both Clarke and Lexa’s cheeks before following Raven out. 

“Don’t have too much fun tonight,” she yells as she pulls the door closed.

And just like that Clarke and Lexa are alone in the apartment, a single candle burning on the coffee table while the static crackling of the record player settles in the apartment. 

Suddenly the air is alive. It grows charged with a kind of energy that can only be experienced and not explained.

“You want to watch TV?” Clarke asks, quickly uncluttering the couch. She pulls the blanket off the arm and sits, inviting Lexa to join.

Lexa leaves an almost alarming bit of space between them; and if Clarke hadn’t already been so endeared to the way she looks so nervous, she might be upset. Still, Clarke doesn’t force it. She lets Lexa have her space until the space begins to burn and Lexa fidgets around. She awkwardly excuses herself to the bathroom and when she returns, sits closer to Clarke, more intimately. It isn’t subtle in the slightest but it gets the job done and Clarke is trying to stay cool and unaffected. 

To distract herself, she channel surfs until she finds something vaguely watchable—a rerun of _The Sorcerer’s Stone._ Her breath hitches every time she catches Lexa stealing a glance at her; blushing hard, cheeks firing red. Then says to Lexa, amused and confident, “TV is that way,” pointing forward.

Lexa bites her lip to stop to keep a grin at bay. “Thanks Einstein,” she begrudges and pulls the blanket that Clarke is hoarding over her lap. In the process, their hands bump and graze and Clarke is feeling that perpetual tingle that Lexa always gives her. 

“Why are your hands so cold?” Lexa asks, slight concern, more so invitational.

Clarke half shrugs and holds out a hand for Lexa’s observation. “Poor circulation? I’m part reptile?” It’s not particularly cold today, though outside the leaves are slowly starting to change, the air getting sharper. “Sorry, I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“No, here,” Lexa offers a bit too keen. “Let me warm your scales,” she says again slower, lighter. She takes Clarke’s hand and rubs it between her own, like she’s trying to start a fire. Eventually she stops and it’s almost inevitable that their fingers intertwine under the blanket. Any nerves from before have dissipated.

“I thought this wasn’t a date,” Clarke teases fondly, setting the remote onto the coffee table.

Lexa turns her head, locking Clarke’s gaze. She blinks once, memorizing the details of Clarke’s eyes then rolls her own dramatically, though it’s nothing short of affectionate. 

“You and your labels,” Lexa sighs, her thumb grazing up and down Clarke’s, and Clarke can’t hear anything but the whizzing of the blood in her head.

“Dinner, wine, candles, soft music. This is what dates are _made_ of.”

“Right, and the nauseating sound of Octavia chewing with her mouth open and Raven burping every ten minutes. _So_ romantic.”

Clarke laughs, gentle and soft, breath puffing in Lexa’s face. Lexa shifts a little, letting her shoulder nestle behind Clarke’s and against the couch. 

“Background noise,” she offers, both of them giggling now. “It’s an aesthetic.”

When the giggles subside, Clarke returns her gaze to the TV. She’s overtly aware that Lexa is still watching her, hands still laced beneath the flannel.

“So are we gonna watch this movie or what?” Clarke asks though it’s mostly a senseless filler than an actual question. 

“I’ve seen it a million times, Clarke.” 

“You have a better idea?” She challenges and again, Clarke might already have an idea of the answer.

Lexa exhales, peaking at the TV then back to Clarke. She loosens her grip only slightly so she can adjust herself, but it’s enough to warrant Clarke’s attention. It’s in that moment when their eyes meet—Clarke’s bright and Lexa’s dark—that they are finally aware of just how alone they are.

Clarke’s heart is pounding and all it takes is Lexa’s eyes fluttering down once for Clarke lean in and kiss her.

It’s slow and curious. It’s Lexa’s lips trying to capture Clarke’s in between hers, Clarke running a hand up Lexa’s arm then softly curling it around the back of her neck. It’s Lexa tugging at the buttons of Clarke’s shirt, pulling her close. When Clarke lets her teeth scrape along Lexa’s bottom lip, Lexa lets out a low moan. It spills like velvet into Clarke’s mouth and then expands in her chest. Lexa’s tongue is smoothing across Clarke’s lip, begging, asking. 

Clarke is woozy already, head spinning, pulse beating in places she’s never felt it before. Lexa is so unapologetically _good_ at this that Clarke is already at the mercy of her tongue and fingertips. All it takes is a whimper that she can’t help and then Lexa has her on her back.

Lexa uses Clarke’s neck as a map, marking a trail of firm and warm kisses from the left side all the way to the right side, then onto her collarbone. It leaves Clarke squirming and breathless beneath her and Lexa’s hand dragging against the bare skin of Clarke’s torso is already enough to make her forget her name.

There’s a jangling of keys out in the hallway and both women freeze, Lexa letting her face droop to the crook between Clarke’s neck and collarbone. A moment passes and they realize it was only the neighbour. It’s warning enough.

“Come,” Clarke says, pressing her palm on Lexa’s chest and easing her up. She shimmies out from under her and takes her by the hand, leading her into her bedroom. Lexa follows without any questions. She knows the way well, but surprisingly has only been inside a small handful of times.

Clarke locks the door and only turns on the dim desk lamp. She kicks a clear pathway towards the bed and leads the taller woman backwards and stops just before the back of Lexa’s knees hit the bed. She stops to simply _look_ at Lexa, to remember her face, eyes dark green and wide, cheeks flushed, and mouth bruised red with kisses.

She stops so the moment can breath, to make sure they both want to do this, to give Lexa an out if she really wants one.

The moment passes when Lexa tilts her head down and kisses Clarke again. This time more deliberately and then she’s falling to the bed and Clarke is climbing on top of her. 

For as long as Clarke has known Lexa, Lexa has always been in control, has always been commanding of the space around her. Now, seeing her like this for once relinquishing that power, Clarke is not oblivious to the fact that Lexa would not just do that for anyone. It makes the situation a little more dignified and meaningful than just sex. 

Somewhere between Clarke pulling off Lexa’s shirt and tossing it to the floor and fumbling with the button on her jeans, Lexa regains her dominance and flips them. It takes Clarke by surprise but when Lexa leans down to unbutton her shirt, mouth dragging over her ear and down her jaw, Clarke is off to another world.

The skin of Clarke’s stomach is all too soft and all too warm and Lexa’s kisses leave a damp trail that starts at the underwire of Clarke’s bra and dips just below the waistband of her jeans. Lexa would have never known that the freckles you can see on Clarke’s nose only sometimes when the light is just right don’t end just there and that they dust lightly in small constellations over her ribcage down to her hipbone. She would tell everyone that astrology was her favourite subject, but wouldn’t really mean it until right now.

After much stargazing, Lexa finally undoes the button on Clarke’s jeans and Clarke is kicking them off before Lexa can pull them off. Lexa might actually snort and Clarke is propping herself up on her elbows and raising an eyebrow.

“Not exactly the sound you want to hear when someone is taking your pants off.”

“No, no,” Lexa shakes her head mildly embarrassed. “Your underwear…is that… _Snoopy?_ ” 

Now Clarke is embarrassed, not having realized. “Shit. Yeah, I—I didn’t think anyone would be seeing them tonight,” she sheepishly admits. 

Lexa crawls up and kisses her. “It’s cute. I like them. And I refuse to believe you had zero intention for this to happen tonight.”

Clarke opens her mouth and her eyes twinkle at Lexa. “I didn’t!” She exclaims. “I—“ but before she can finish, Lexa is kissing her again.

And then her neck, and then her chest, and then she’s unclasping her bra and tossing it to the floor. She continues to kiss the same path she did earlier towards Clarke’s belly button. 

And then Lexa’s lips are hovering just above the white cotton. She looks up once at Clarke and when Clarke doesn’t protest, Lexa hooks two fingers under the hem and slides them off.

“Is it a date now?” Lexa whispers warm and slow onto Clarke’s thigh.

The only sound Clarke can manage is a strangled breath. Her hands are fisted into Lexa’s hair and her back arches off the mattress when she feels the contact, hot like fire, mind drawing blanks. 

Lexa lets out an inquisitive, quiet hum too busy to say much else, and the vibrations of her lips send a blockbuster shockwave through Clarke’s body so it’s quite astounding she can manage coherent words.

“You’ll have to buy me dinner first,” she breathes. When she glances down, Lexa’s eyes are dark like she’s never seen and Clarke can actually fucking feel the expanse of Lexa’s smile.

It’s unforgettable and that’s just the _first_ time Lexa makes Clarke come tonight.

 

  

\----------

 

 

“Thank you,” Lexa tells the server as she retrieves her credit card from him. She tucks it into her wallet and slips it into her purse. Then she looks up across the table over the candlelight at Clarke. 

She’s glowing, ravishing even under the dimmest lighting possible. The blonde of her hair radiates, her eyes dazzle, her laugh mesmerizing. Lexa, now more than ever, has never been so adored to Clarke, let alone anyone at all.

“What?” Clarke says bashful. “Is there food on my face?”

“No,” Lexa laughs. “I just like to look at you. I told you, you’re very pretty.”

An old lady at the adjacent table overhears. She glances over grinning admirably and fondly at the two of them. Clarke smiles at Lexa, reaching her hand across the table for hers. 

“So are you,” she says softly.

“Should we go?” Lexa asks.

Clarke nods.

 

 

They walk the long way back to Clarke’s place. Lexa reaches for Clarke’s hand first, fingers lacing soundly like they were meant to do this. It’s cool tonight making the touch extra warm. Along the way, Lexa picks a flower from someone’s garden and gives it Clarke.

“That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever done,” Clarke says, taking it from Lexa who hasn’t once stopped smiling tonight.

“This is a date, isn’t it? Dates are supposed to be cheesy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clarke grins, tucking the stem behind her ear. “Thank you,” she says quieter this time.

This time, when they reach Clarke’s apartment, Lexa walks her all the way upstairs to the front door where Raven and Octavia, some other voices, and music can be heard.

“Tonight was lovely,” Clarke says, leaning one shoulder into the wall. 

Lexa does the same, facing her just a breath apart. “It was only a matter of time,” she professes. Her toes start to tingle when Clarke’s finger curls lightly around her pinky.

“Oh, was it now?” 

“Mhm.” Lexa hooks a single finger in the waistband of Clarke’s leggings and pulls her forward only stopping when they’re stomach to stomach and there’s nowhere else to go. She flicks the elastic and that same hand glides up Clarke’s hip and splays against her back. Their noses brush together and Lexa is closing the space between them.

“I don’t kiss on the first date,” Clarke whispers, complacent as ever like she’s proud of it. 

Lexa pulls back, but only just enough that she can look at Clarke’s face. There are no other words to be said; Clarke’s grin says it all and Lexa’s eyes are darkening again, the blood rushing faster through her veins. It’s a challenge and Lexa loves it.

Eventually Clarke leans forward, like she’s finally going to kiss Lexa. Instead, she leans past her, lips just grazing at her cheek and takes her by the hand and drags her inside. 

Everyone is watching as they stride past the living room hand in hand; Raven, Octavia, Bellamy, Lincoln, and Wick. Neither Clarke nor Lexa pays any attention, waving off their hoots and hollers. 

When the door to Clarke’s bedroom shuts, they fall into a blanket of silence. It’s dark, no lights this time, just whatever reflections creeps in through the slatted blinds. Clarke has Lexa pushed up against the door, hands on either side of her while Lexa’s are dangerously low on Clarke’s waist. There’s no more teasing, no more wondering what sort of blurred line they teeter.

It’s just Clarke and Lexa, two people finally realizing what they mean to each other. 

 

 

“Just kiss me already,” Lexa sighs.

So Clarke does.

 

  

Somewhere in the living room, Octavia is reluctantly handing Raven a ten dollar bill.

 

_**END** _

**Author's Note:**

> this is so bad lmao idk how to write ~smut or whatever that was


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